


On a Wire

by thisyearsgrrrrl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, endverse!2014, not a feel good, tagging is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisyearsgrrrrl/pseuds/thisyearsgrrrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas reflects on his decent into depravity and humanity, when Dean arrives, looking for some cold comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Wire

     Cas lazily rolling a spliff as watched as the last woman got dressed. She smiled at him, demure eyes cast down towards the floor as she attempted to put her clothing on in the most seductive way possible. She had been slept through the others waking and leaving without saying a word. Cas had told them the silence denoted respect for the spiritual practice they had just experienced. In reality, he couldn’t be bothered to maintain pillow talk. The woman opened her mouth to speak, and Cas put a finger to his lips. She smiled, shrugging, and waved goodbye. Snapping his fingers to get her attention, Cas pointed to a bottle of wine and half-full glass sitting on the table. The woman retrieved it, bringing it to where he sat, and quietly walked out of the cabin.

     Sighing, Cas turned his attention back to his joint, lighting the tip and inhaling deeply. He hoped for some sleep tonight, but it seemed unlikely. The candles flickered as the draft blew in from some unknown corner of the cabin, and Cas took another drag. Standing, he began turning off lights, blowing out candles, sending the cabin into semi-darkness, the moon filtering in through the windows and a lone bedside lamp, its light dimmed by a once-fashionable scarf someone had forgotten in his cabin. He made his way over to the ancient turntable, flicking it on and lowering the arm. Music filtered around him, the space closing around until it was only him.

     Spliff dangling from his mouth, he poured himself a large glass of wine, downing it almost instantly. He poured another. The next song came on, playing gently into his ear, the cacophony of the singer melding with the sweetness of the words and the tart bite of the shitty wine.

 

_Like a bird on a wire_

_Like a drunk in a midnight choir_

_I have tried in my way to be free_

 

     The song had come to him the same time marijuana had. It tasted like nostalgia.

     Taking a sip, he tried to force his memories down; taking a pull, he tried to dull what was left of his senses. Memory was a luxury he could no longer maintain.

     Thoughts drifted, sudden and unwelcome….

 

* * *

 

     Detroit. The beginning of the end.

 

* * *

 

     Cas watched the phone drop from Dean’s hand, bouncing off the floor. Bobby asked what the matter was. The sick feeling spread through Cas. Dean turned around; his eyes glazed his hand still held to his ear. Bobby said Dean’s name again, and Dean’s eyes trained onto Cas’s.

     There was a moan, and he was holding Dean’s collapsed body before he realised it had been Cas’s own.

 

* * *

 

     “We’ll do something,” Dean said, clutching at the fabric of Cas’s coat, his eyes over-bright, the smell of whiskey floating from his breath.

     “Of course,” Cas mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

     “We can still save Sammy.” Dean fell into the pillow, a dry sob escaping his lips. His tears had stopped coming weeks ago, replaced with these horrible sounds that Cas didn’t fully understand. Angels don’t cry. They don’t feel.

     “I’ll keep looking,” Cas lied. “We’ll find a way, Dean.”

     Dean gaged out a laugh. “Cas,” he mumbled. “Cas…”

     Cas sat next to him that night, unable to let go of the hand that clung to him.

 

* * *

 

     It was just before they found Bobby’s body.

     Cas had been driving with Dean, tired after having escaped Chicago after a sudden outbreak of the Croatoan virus. He was listening to the steady drumming of the Impala’s engine, feeling heavy, leaning against the cool glass window. He suddenly straightened, turning his head, craning to hear.

     “Dean.”

     Dean didn’t hear.

     “Dean. Stop the car.”

     “What?”

     “You need to stop the car.”

     “We need more miles between us and them, Cas.”

     “Dean!” Cas screamed, his eyes wide with panic. “Dean, stop!”

     The wheels screamed, and Cas threw the door open. He wandered, staring up into the sky, his mind blank.

     The deafening silence. He hadn’t been paying attention, drowning out the angel radio in his head once the angels had stopped helping him help Dean. It was suddenly gone. The voices of the angels had stopped, and expanding his mind outwards, he found that there was no one else. He was alone.

     He was screaming for Dean to be quiet, that he needed to listen, but Cas knew it wouldn’t help. He felt like the molecules of his vessel were flying apart, scattering to the very edges of the universe, burning up.

     He heard himself screaming, “Dean! Dean! Dean!” He became aware of the arms around him, crushing his face into a strong, trembling shoulder. He felt a coolness on his face – tears. His body trembled at the sudden largeness of the universe.

     Castiel, the last angel on earth, was alone.

 

* * *

 

     “Come on, Cas. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

     Dean shuffled Cas towards the bathroom. He found that the angel was calmer when Dean kept up a constant stream of sound, sometimes just humming tunes of half-remembered songs. It helped to control the near constant shaking.

     They were staying in Bobby’s house. Dean hadn’t known where else to go. They had burned Bobby’s body the day before, Dean not looking at Cas as the smell of burning flesh hit his nose, invaded his pores. Since then, Cas had seemed quieter, more subdued, like he was lost somewhere in himself.

     Dean had filled the sink with water, taking a cloth and wiping it over Cas’s body, Cas watching it as it trailed over his skin. When Dean finished, he took a razor and shaved the growing beard on Cas’s face, Cas watching in amazement as it revealed paths of hairlessness.

     “I’ve never done this before,” Cas said, staring into the mirror. His grace had always maintained his vessel.

     He heard a sniff, and looked up at Dean to see he was crying, trying to clean off what was left of the shaving cream from Castiel’s face. 

     “Why are you crying?” Cas asked, knowing it was a stupid question. Bobby was dead. They were without allies. Sam was Lucifer’s vessel. The angels were gone.

     “Why?” Cas asked, feebly standing, draping his arms around Dean’s neck as he’d seen Sam do.

     “Why?” He felt Dean lean in, pulling Cas deep into the embrace, his face hidden in the crook of his neck.

     “Why?” was spoken, but not heard, as Dean let out a howl that shook through Cas’s bones, making him tremble harder. Cas held onto Dean even as they collapsed onto the tiles, afraid to let go, suddenly aware of how fragile everything around him was.

     They spent the night in the bathroom and left the next morning. Dean never cried again.

 

* * *

 

     Depression, like survival, became a companion to Cas. Dean had found some pills that were supposed to help with Cas’s shaking, calm his nerves, but they really only led Cas to realizing that there were ways he could escape from the world he was trapped in. Sex became another drug, the kick of endorphins almost as predictable as the uppers and downers he self-prescribed.  A warm body helped to quell the constant loneliness of his mortality almost as well as the moonshine made while on the road. Dean said nothing, didn’t laugh, joke, or criticize.

     Thus, Cas fell into depravity. Sex and drugs helped soften the harsh constraints of linear time, the powerlessness of impermanence. And Dean was always there, like Cas was Dean’s shadow, following him from place to place, watching Dean try and save what was left of the world.

     Cas’s thoughts drifted back when he heard the soft click of the door. He felt himself smiling, already knowing who it was. He lifted the arm of the turntable, returning it to the beginning of the song, leaning into the sound.

     “You didn’t stop by,” Cas smiled, speaking over the music, breathing smoke. Silent footfalls told Cas where he was. “You missed one hell of an orgy.” He felt the presence of another human being at his back, breath tickling the hairs on his neck. Then, a hand snaked along his stomach, feeling the muscles of Cas’s stomach flex against the touch. Cas smiled, holding the spliff over his shoulder, not looking back. Another hand reached and took it from him, and he heard the inhalation of breath.

     A darkly amused smile crept to Cas’s face. He listened for another intake of the drug, and then took the joint back, finishing it off quietly, standing still as he did. Lips touched the back of his neck, tasting the spot where his unkempt hair faded to skin. Another hand moved over his body, sliding down his torso, fiddling with the trouser button until it opened, hand moving to be between Cas’s skin and the fabric.

     Cas let out an amused snort, and finished his glass of wine before pouring another one. The hand began moving, gently tugging at Cas, which Cas did his best to ignore. But a turn of the wrist, and Cas felt a soft sigh escape his lips, and he could feel the kisses twist into tickled smiles as they rained down his neck.

     It had been on the road, when Dean had first started coming to Cas at night. First, it had been simply comfort: holding each other together so that they could make it till morning. Then, the sloppy, drunk kisses of desperate men, Cas breathing hard into them, trying to keep up with Dean’s impatience and the newness of the experience. Soon enough, their hands would be on each other’s bodies, trying to squeeze out comfort and a feeling of security, quietly moaning into the caverns of the other, sounds that spoke of the fears they tried to disregard in the light of day. Orgasm was a brief moment of bliss, a feeling of lost grace, before falling back to reality.

 

_If I’ve, if I’ve been unkind_

_I hope you can just let it go by_

_If I have been untrue_

_I hope you know it was never to you_

 

     Cas felt the glass taken from his hand and set aside. He stepped forward, turning off the light, knowing Dean wouldn’t face him with it on. This was their moment to feel close to someone, to be vulnerable in ways that didn’t fit with the world anymore. Cas turned and felt Dean’s lips press to his, feeling himself swell at the familiarity. Dean wouldn’t wait tonight, his touch was demanding, aching, deep. Fingers curled into Cas’s hair, pulling his head to the side so that Dean had better access to Cas’s tender neck. Satisfied growls purred from Dean’s throat, sending shivers down Cas’s spine. Cas pulled his hands down Dean’s back, pulling at the fabric, lifting it to touch the warm skin beneath. A grunt of approval, and Cas pulled Dean backwards to the bed, forcing his lips back to Dean’s face, demanding a kiss.

     Tongues touched, tasted the pot and wine and sweat and saliva as they fell back onto the bed. Cas lifted himself up slightly, allowing Dean to push off the unbuttoned shirt, gasping when Dean ground his pelvis into Cas, feeling the heat pulsing from his body. He fumbled with the belt buckle, clumsy with desire, pushing Dean’s pants down as Dean reciprocated. They sighed, skin touching skin, and Cas looked up to see Dean staring into his eyes, peaking at him through the walls they’d built. He couldn’t tell if it was his heart or Dean’s he felt pounding against his chest.

 

_Like a baby, stillborn_

_Like a beast with its horn_

_I have torn everyone who reached out for me_

 

     Cas turned them over, and reached for the lubricant and condoms stored in the side table. Dean ran his hands up and down Cas’s back as the former angel gazed at the man through his lashes. He trailed soft kisses down the other man’s chest, then stomach, spreading his legs, kissing the V of his hip. Dean sighed, resting a hand on his stomach, leaning back. Cas kissed the base of Dean’s penis, slowly gathering the man into his mouth, a palms pressed onto Dean’s thighs, holding him steady. Dean’s breathing grew heavy, his hips moving to meet Cas’s measured pace.

     Licking and sucking, Cas expertly took the lubricant and squeezed some onto his fingers, placing the cold gel against Dean’s asshole, listening to him gasp at the cold and hold his breath as Cas pushed a finger in. Sliding Dean’s length further into his throat, his free hand holding the man steady, he inserted more and more fingers into Dean, feeling Dean push back against the intrusive force. Cas thought he heard Dean mumble something, but it was incomprehensible. If Dean was able do to one thing during these meetings, it was keep his silence.

     Dean’s cock popped out of Cas’s mouth, as Cas looked up at the other man, leaning into the bed, riding his fingers, eyes squeezed shut, lips swollen from kisses and bruised from the words he kept at bay.

     “That’s my boy,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s hip, placing a kiss there. “That’s my boy.”

     He pulled out his fingers, and kneeled in front of Dean, staring into his scrunched up face through the darkness of the cabin. The moonlight made Dean’s sweat shine against his skin. Cas tilted his head, studying. He tore open the condom package, rolling the latex on, and added a layer of lubricant to that, massaging himself as he stared at the man underneath him. Dean opened his eyes, and looked up at Cas, wide and staring, mouth drawn tight across his face, the pain he couldn’t talk about pounding out from his eyes, and Cas’s chest heaved.

 

_But I swear by this song_

_And by all that I have done wrong_

_I’ll make it all up to thee_

 

     “Dean,” Cas said as he thrust into him. Dean only moaned, pulling Cas’s mouth to his own, attacking his mouth with his tongue and lips.

     “Dean,” Cas said again as he moved his hips in and out, sensing Dean’s breath quicken beneath him, fingers running through Dean’s hair, feeling Dean’s mouth move against his, the soft string of sound catching in Cas’s ear.

     “I… I… Cas. Fuhh… Cas…”

     Like rosary beads hitting each other, this was the closest to prayer that Dean or Cas let themselves get anymore. Murmuring the other’s names into the darkness, bodies pounding into each other…

     “Please, Cas. My angel, my angel…”

     Cas pushed his face into Dean’s shoulder, pulling back the man’s leg, allowing more of Cas to enter Dean. Dean was saying more than usual, and it scared Cas. It scared him because he knew there was nothing he could do or say to fix whatever it was that made Dean mumble these words. He felt Dean’s hand pull Cas into him more, felt Dean’s teeth graze his jaw, tongue licking as Cas’s name tumbled from the man’s mouth. Cas covered the words as they came from Dean’s mouth with a hard kiss, stopping the sound before it ruined them.

     He fucked harder, Dean’s breath hitching itself to the rhythm of Cas’s hips. And then Cas saw it, the abyss that always appeared to him when they made love. All of the sadness and torment and failures that brought them together like this, that made it impossible to love during the day, that forced them into these dark corners where they ran to hide.

     Grabbing hold of Dean’s cock between them, he began to pump, not knowing whether the growing feeling was panic or an orgasm. Dean’s back arched, and he suddenly stopped talking, breathing, his body rocking as waves of pleasure racked over him. Cas felt Dean tighten, and with a few more pushes, felt himself tumbling over as well.

     They lay there, shaking, the draft making their sweat chill their skin. Cas rolled off Dean and stood shakily, walking to the bathroom. He returned with a damp rag, cleaning Dean up before he did the same to himself. He lay down next to Dean, the stylus of the record machine reading out the silence. Words formed and melted from his lips, the record skipping and hissing, their breathing slowing to normal. When Cas turned to look at Dean, he could see the stern determination had returned to his face, everything else wiped clean. Gone was the man, replaced with the resolve that had kept them alive this long. _Our fearless leader_ , Cas thought, crushing down any thoughts of love or forgiveness that rushed to meet him.

     Without Cas’s consent, his finger went to Dean’s cheek, tracing a line there with his knuckle. Dean turned to him, surprised, a question of, _what are you doing_ , forming behind his eyes. Cas stared into him, thoughts rushing like waves in his mind, wanting to be heard. _Tell him. Tell him you love him. Tell him you forgive him for everything that’s happened. Tell him you’re sorry. Tell him it will be okay. Tell him it’s not his fault. Tell him the lies you want him to say. Tell him to kiss you, and never leave you._

_And the unspoken promise, taken from a book Cas had found, half burnt and abandoned, when they had still been walking the road:_

****

_You go your way_

_I’ll go your way too_

 

     Cas clenched his hidden hand, willing the thoughts to stop.

     Dean rolled off the bed, collecting his clothes without a word. Cas pulled the covers over his naked body, staring stiffly at the ceiling. He thought he felt the silent steps pause at the door, and he imagined eyes trained onto him, racking over his body. The door clicked shut, and Cas felt the pull of loneliness creeping into him. He reached into the bedside table, looking through several bottles before finding the right one, popping a couple pills into his mouth and swallowing them with the remaining wine. He leaned back, waiting for sleep to take him to a place where there would be no love, or hate, or hurt, or Dean. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! Hope you enjoyed reading! 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr, thisyearsgrrrrl. 
> 
> For those interested, both the song and the poem at the end were written by Leonard Cohen. The song is "Bird on a Wire" and the poem is called "The Sweetest Little Song" from Book of Longing.


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